


Falling For You (And Your Endearingly Corny Pickup Lines)

by byrd_the_amazin



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, and jack is absolutely smitten, coffee shop AU, finch is done with all your crap, he's the one that writes the cheesy pickup lines on the cup, i combined three prompts because i'm a lazy piece of crud, i'm actually super proud of this one, this belongs in Idiots In Love and the author gives no craps, where crutchie is The Barista, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:17:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byrd_the_amazin/pseuds/byrd_the_amazin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so the prompt was </p><p>Jackcrutchie 'I’m on the verge of tears because of a rude customer and you step in and stand up for me’ AU</p><p>BUT YO I COMBINED THIS WITH</p><p>I write a bad pick up line on your cup every time I’m your barista’ AU jackcrutchie</p><p>AND I SUPPOSE THIS FALLS UNDER THE SAME CATEGORY AS</p><p>prompt for jackcrutchie with protective jack and whatever else you feel cause I am seriously newsies deprived and I love your stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling For You (And Your Endearingly Corny Pickup Lines)

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK AT THE LAZY BUM, COMBINING PROMPTS
> 
> SHAMEFUL
> 
> i think i've reached the point where i'm playing this really fun game called, "How Long Can I Make My Fic Titles Without Exceeding The Limit (And My Readers' Patience?)"
> 
> it's a great game
> 
> started with The Misadventures Of The Secret Anonymous Gift Exchangers
> 
> escalated from there
> 
> but here you go
> 
> blame bel for this one, actually
> 
> here goes nothing  
> UPDATE: THERE IS NOW AMAZING FANART LOOK AT THIS MASTERPIECE http://to-the-giant-furniture-wall.tumblr.com/post/139082481904/vitariesocks-doodles-for
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH~
> 
> -byrd

 

~

Jack first met the cute barista on a cold and blustery morning.

He was already late for class, anyways, and the wind was biting at his exposed face and hands, and he thought that maybe he had contracted frostbite in his fingers.

So it was by complete chance that he ducked into the tiny little café on the corner of the road. He vaguely noticed a pleasant chiming sound from the bell above him as he opened the door, but his only thought was to get inside and get _warm._

The guy behind the counter looked up as he came in and smiled sweetly. “It’s cold out, isn't it? Come on in!”

“Hi,” said Jack breathlessly, attributing his lack of air to the cold and not the fact that _the cute barista had freckles,_ no, definitely not. “Do you mind if I… sit for a second? I can’t feel my hands.”

“Of course,” said Cute Barista with a grin, and Jack gratefully grabbed a seat at the table nearest the counter. “Welcome to the best café in the Lower East Side Area. I’m Crutchie if you need anything.”

“Crutchie?” Jack asked, tilting his head. “Is that your real name?”

“No. Real name’s Charlie. But people call me Crutchie.”

“Why do they call you…?”

“I’ll show you in a second. Hang on,” Crutchie said, as a customer sitting in the corner called for some more coffee.

He grabbed the coffee pot and fidgeted for a moment behind the counter, then came around to serve the man, and that’s when Jack noticed the crutch.

Crutchie must not have needed it, leaning up against the bar like he was, but now that he was up and moving, it was clear that he required it to walk; his right leg bent awkwardly at the knee and as a result, it barely brushed the floor.

“Crutchie,” Jack said in understanding, as Crutchie came back to his counter and set his crutch against the wall again.

“Now you know,” laughed Crutchie. “Can I interest you in some hot coffee? You look freezing.”

“I actually have to-” Jack checked his phone. “Shit, I’m really late. Can I grab one to go?”

“Of course,” Crutchie said, and grabbed a cup. “What’s your name?”

“Jack,” he said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “My name’s Jack.”

“Awesome,” Crutchie said, uncapping his marker with his teeth and scribbling it down onto the cup, and Jack’s eyes didn’t follow the marker lid in Crutchie’s mouth until it went back on the marker _no, what are you talking about._

Jack shuffled awkwardly, standing and then sitting again, thinking maybe it was creepy to watch the barista make his drink, but he didn’t know what to do, so he just sat, observing Crutchie at work.

The guy was constantly in motion, drumming his fingers on the countertop, twirling the marker in between his fingers, stacking and restacking cups. When the coffee was ready, he tucked it in a cardboard sleeve with expert, practiced movements and set it on the counter with a quiet, “Jack!”

Jack jumped up and took it, taking a sip as he did.

“Oh my _god,”_ he cried, around a mouthful of steaming hot coffee. He fished out his wallet and set the money on the counter. “Keep the change. This is the best effing cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Crutchie’s grin was blinding.

“Really,” Jack assured him. “See if I ever go to Starbucks again!”

Crutchie giggled as he put the money in the cash register, and _oh no._

He had _dimples,_ too.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the baristas,” he said flirtatiously, and Jack’s heart skipped a few beats until he realized that he was joking.

 _Two can play at that game, you unfairly adorable boy,_ he thought, and responded, “Nah. Only the cute ones.”

Crutchie laughed. “Go on, I don’t want to make you even more late.”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah!” Jack cried, and ran for the door. “Thanks for the coffee, Crutchie!”

“Anytime!” came the response, and Jack grinned despite himself.

It wasn’t until he got outside, back into the freezing cold air, that he noticed the note in neat handwriting up the side of the cup.

 _Jack,_ it said. His name. For his order. Of course.

Then, underneath, it read, _Is your name wifi? Cause I’m feelin’ a connection :)_

Jack laughed quietly to himself and resolved not to throw away the cup until absolutely necessary.

And if he took a picture with his phone, right there on the sidewalk, well, that was no one’s business but his own, now was it?

~

The next morning found Jack in the same coffee shop again, stamping his feet on the doormat to get any excess slush off, and Crutchie greeted him by name this time.

“Jack!” he cried. “You’re back!”

“I am,” agreed Jack, coming over to the counter and leaning against it. “I’ve returned for some more of that earth-shattering, mind-blowing, life-changing coffee. Grande, please.”

Crutchie’s ears turned pink as he put the order in. “It wasn’t _that_ good.”

“No, I swear it was,” Jack said earnestly. “It really and truly was the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

Crutchie smiled down at the register as Jack handed him the money, then set off making another phenomenal cup of coffee, still always in motion, constantly moving, and now that Jack was right up against the counter, he could hear Crutchie humming, too- a sweet, high song that had a repeating chorus.

When he got his cup of coffee, Jack apologetically explained how late he was. Again.

“You should start coming earlier,” said Crutchie, wiping down the countertops with a rag. “We’ll have more time to talk.”

“Yeah,” replied Jack, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Did Crutchie… _want_ to talk to him? That was promising.

Once more, in the middle of the sidewalk, he stopped to look at his cup, and he wasn’t disappointed. Crutchie had scrawled another pick-up line under Jack’s name- thin, neat letters proclaiming _Are you a magnet? Cause I’m attracted to you!_

Jack wondered if the adorable, freckled, _dimpled_ barista was being serious.

More likely he was just teasing.

That was all.

~

The third time, Jack came earlier.

He leaned further across the counter this time, smiling at Crutchie whenever their eyes met, shamelessly flirting with him, but the other boy didn’t seem to be picking up on it.

They had time to talk this morning, if only for a few minutes, and Jack learned that Crutchie was a student at uni, same as him. Most of Crutchie’s classes were after dark, though, so he could work here all day.

“Good God, when do you _sleep?_ ” Jack asked.

Crutchie shrugged. “I find time. My roommate’s really good about getting me to sleep. He threatens me with things.”

“Sounds like an amazing roommate,” Jack said with a smile. Not that Davey wasn’t great, but the guy did have a bad habit of neglecting to take care of himself while focused on his work. Like during exams week. When he had _forgotten to sleep._

“The best,” agreed Crutchie.

That day, the pickup line on the cup was _If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple :)))_

~

By the second week, it was becoming routine.

Jack came in earlier and earlier, so as to have more time to talk to Crutchie. He would order some of Crutchie’s “life-changing” coffee, and they would talk about anything that came to mind before Jack had to go.

Every day, Jack waited until he was outside to check for the cute little one-liner Crutchie had written on his cup, and every day, Crutchie never failed him. They were getting progressively cornier and cornier.

Jack thought it was adorable.

Then again, Crutchie’s entire existence was adorable. The way he smiled. His dimples. His freckles, like tiny paint flecks across his skin. The way he never complained or even frowned once, even though with night classes and seven-day work, the guy must have been going through hell. The familiar _click_ of his crutch as he made his way across the shop to refill a mug or serve an order.

Jack was falling for the cute barista.

_Hard._

~

It wasn’t until midway through the third week that Jack even thought to ask Crutchie’s hours.

“Well,” Crutchie said. “The shop’s open until nine at night, but I have class at four-thirty, so my shift ends at four-fifteen.”

 _Four-fifteen._ “So, theoretically, I could come by here _after_ class, too?”

“You’re going to die of caffeine overdose, Jack,” laughed Crutchie, passing a latte over the bar to a customer.

“Maybe I’m not coming for the coffee,” said Jack. “Maybe I’m coming because you’re the only one that will talk to me when I’m suffering from morning grumpiness.”

“It’s not just you,” Crutchie assured him. “People come in here all the time, hungover or exhausted or just pissed, and I’ve got to remedy it with good coffee.”

“The _best_ coffee,” Jack said, raising his in agreement.

“You’re sweet,” Crutchie said with a smile. “The point is, you’re not the worst customer I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me.”

“No, seriously. Once we had this guy who would come in every weekend, hungover as hell, and he would brag loudly to the entire shop about the amazing sex he’d had last night.”

“Oh _fun.”_

“I know, right? And eventually, he gets to be too disruptive and I have to ‘escort’ him out,” Crutchie moaned, putting his face in his hands. “Every time, he told me I had the face of an angel and that he wanted to take _me_ out next.”

Jack snickered. “And you didn’t take him up on it?”

“Of _course_ I didn’t,” Crutchie said, like it should be obvious, and suddenly Jack found it hard to breathe. Maybe Crutchie was straight. Maybe he had turned the drunk guy down not only because he was drunk but also because he was a _guy._

“And why would you ever turn such a request down?” Jack asked, trying for a teasing tone but in fact probably coming across as scared shitless.

“Because he was _hungover,_ ” said Crutchie, wrinkling his nose. “He smelled like beer and he wasn’t being subtle at all. And,” he added, as a last-minute thought, “he wasn’t _cute._ At all.”

Maybe it was Jack’s overeager imagination that thought that maybe, just maybe, Crutchie’s eyes had scanned Jack oh-so-quickly during that last part.

“Of course,” said Jack with a nervous laugh, still not having received the answer to his real question. “So you’re…”

“Pan,” Crutchie supplied. “However, this does not include hungover assholes who smell awful and breathe in your face when you try to help them call a cab.”

“Not sure there _is_ a word for the attraction to people like that,” Jack mused, relief washing over him at the realization that the adorable barista was, in fact, not straight.

“You need to go,” Crutchie reminded him gently, pushing a coffee cup sleeve into his hands, as he always did before Jack left. “You don’t want to be late.”

“I don’t want to be late,” Jack agreed, getting to his feet. He stuck his phone in his back pocket and slung his bag over his shoulder, then grabbed the coffee and the sleeve.

“Crutchie?” he called at the door to the coffee shop.

“Yeah, Jack?”

 _Nah, better not._ “Thanks for the coffee,” he said.

“Anytime. Don’t be late.”

Jack walked out of the shop with a massive grin on his face, and the cute little pickup line on the side of his cup didn’t hurt his mood.

_Are you the sun? Cause you’re so hot, it hurts to look at you_

~

That day, when Jack returned, the shop was empty. Crutchie was resting his head in his arms on the counter, but when the door opened, he leapt up. He looked _exhausted,_ but he still managed to flash a dazzling smile at Jack.

“Hey, Jack,” he said. “You want something?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “It’s freezing outside, but I need to sleep tonight. Have any suggestions?”

Crutchie smiled. “We just got in a peppermint hot cocoa last week. Want some?”

“Sounds amazing,” Jack said.

As Crutchie went to work making the cocoa, Jack watched him, as he always did. The guy couldn’t help but put a little spring in his step, thought Jack, no matter how tired he appeared to be. And the song he always hummed had changed, as it tended to every few days, and now it was a fast, upbeat thing that kept requiring him to take breaths.

“It’s amazing,” Jack sighed, as he took his first sip of the cocoa. “Truly. As always.”

“You big charmer, you,” giggled Crutchie, and something in Jack’s brain short-circuited alarmingly as the dimples made a reappearance.

They both turned to the door as the little bell that Jack had grown so fond of over the past few weeks rang, and a scruffy looking guy in sweatpants and an unzipped jacket (and… not much else) came into the shop.

“Shit,” Crutchie muttered, and Jack didn’t have to ask. This was the drunk asshole that Crutchie always had to show out. “I can’t deal with him right now. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

“I could help-”

“No.” Crutchie grabbed his crutch. “You _stay right where you are._ ”

So Jack watched as he made his way across the shop to the entrance, where the man was still standing in the doorway, blinking and looking disoriented, like he wasn’t sure how he possibly ended up here.

Crutchie said something to him that Jack couldn’t hear, and the man seemed to get angry. Crutchie said it again, and this time Jack heard it loud and clear: “ _You need to leave.”_

The (obviously drunk, or severely hungover, but definitely pissed off) man then tried to take a swing at Crutchie, and Jack started to get up, but Crutchie easily dodged it and stepped out of swinging range.

So instead of physically hurting Crutchie, the man tried to talk his way out of it.

“’M lost,” he said, words slurred almost beyond recognition. “Need… coffee. You got some coffee?”

“Coffee’ll just hurt your head even more,” Crutchie said, putting a hand on the man’s arm and turning him around so that he was facing out the door. “Go on, go home and rest. You need it. I’ll see you on Saturday, bright and early, so you can tell me all about the fun people you slept with.”

Jack almost snorted cocoa across the counter, because Crutchie was so good at this whole _dealing with people_ thing that had Jack not heard stories about this famous hungover asshole, Jack might have thought that Crutchie was being genuine in going and telling the guy to sleep it off.

More likely, the coffee would have helped and Crutchie was just steering the man away from a true solution as payback for being an ass.

Not that Jack could blame him.

“Slept with,” the man repeated tiredly. “Lots of people I slept with.” He focused on Crutchie. “You should sleep with me, ange.”

“No thanks,” Crutchie said firmly. He gave the man a not-so-subtle push towards the door. “Go home. Find some other poor prick to sleep with, and I’m sure I’ll hear all about it this weekend.”

“But babyyyyy,” whined the man. “You’re so pretty… you look like an angel. Did it hurt…” He hiccupped. “You must have fallen on your face.”

“Okay,” said Crutchie. He finally succeeded in pushing the guy out the door, and the man stumbled onto the sidewalk, then began walking, still mumbling to himself.

“That went well,” Jack said.

Crutchie sighed, shutting the door behind him. “Yeah, he’s a pill. But when he’s sober-” He seemed to rethink this. “When he’s less drunk, he likes to buy extra-large coffees.”

“Coffees? As in, multiple cups?”

Crutchie nodded. “I think his record was eight in one visit? At any rate, he’s the reason this place hasn’t closed yet- he’s annoying, but he’s our best customer.”

“What would you have done if there had been other customers in here? Do you always have to push him out like that?”

“Sometimes,” Crutchie said. He returned to his place behind the counter and set his crutch against the wall. “The other customers just kind of watch. No one ever says anything. And sometimes, if we’re really busy, I’ll get Finch to cover for me while I go sort the drunk out.”

Jack nodded. He’d met Finch- he was Crutchie’s Monday-Wednesday-Saturday coworker, and he was polite if not overly friendly. He mostly kept to himself, but his coffee was pretty good.

Not as good as Crutchie’s, of course, but little could compare to Crutchie’s.

“It’s a shame, too,” said Crutchie, leaning across the counter towards Jack.

“What?”

“That he used the angel pickup line. The one that says, ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because you have the face of an angel,’ one,” Crutchie sighed. “It’s a shame he used that one, because I was thinking of putting it on your cup today.”

_Your cup._

They had never really acknowledged that Crutchie was blatantly flirting with Jack via cheesy coffee cup pickup lines, but for some reason, Jack didn’t feel the need to question it now.

Only encourage it.

“Well, since he mucked all the lines up and completely screwed over the punchline,” Jack said conspiratorially, leaning in to match Crutchie’s pose, “I think it would be safe if you reused it for me.”

“Because I’ll get the joke right,” laughed Crutchie.

“Exactly.”

Jack’s cup read that exact line when he checked it on his way to class.

Word for word, and Crutchie had gotten the punchline right.

~

The next time Jack came into the shop, someone was shouting.

_That can’t be right._

Over the weeks, he’d grown accustomed to the quiet, peaceful nature of the coffee shop, the serene and calm atmosphere that made the rest of the world seem to go away. Crutchie’s coffee shop was a safe place. A haven for people who needed a break from the outside world and all its drama.

The craziest thing that had happened so far was Crutchie kicking the drunk out, which he had done twice more since the first time, but even that was low-key compared to some of the shit that went down at other places Jack had been to.

So it wasn’t right that someone should be shouting.

Not in this shop.

When Jack caught sight of the scene waiting for him in the shop, the reason behind the shouting, he could feel his hands balling into fists.

There was only one customer in the shop- a woman, a middle-aged, rich-looking hag with dangly jewelry and about three pounds of makeup on her face. She had a pinched mouth, like she sucked on lemons for fun, and she looked mean.

Normally, Jack wouldn’t have been so derogatory towards her, especially since he didn’t know her, but there was the added detail that she was using that chalky, makeup-covered, lemon-pinched mouth to scream at Crutchie, who was standing beside her, leaning heavily on his crutch, flinching away from her and looking for all the world like a kicked puppy.

Well… _that_ wasn’t happening. Not if Jack had anything to say about it.

As he approached the counter, he could make out what she was saying, and it made him want to smack her even more.

“I came in here for a _nice cup of coffee,_ ” she said angrily. “Not to have my _entire outfit ruined_ by a god-for-nothing _crippled boy!_ ”

“I’m so sorry, I really am, I am _so sorry,_ ” Crutchie was mumbling over and over again. The spilled coffee in question was _everywhere-_ on the both seat, all over the table and the floor, and there was no way he’d be able to get it all himself.

“Hey!” Jack said, coming in between the two. “Hey, what happened?”

He’d been focused on Crutchie, but the woman interjected loudly.

“What _happened,_ ” she said, drawing the word out, “is that _this boy here_ spilled my order. All over me. And I think that it’s unacceptable that someone of his _capability_ should be allowed to work here-”

“His capability,” Jack repeated, trying very hard not to let his outrage show on his face. “His _capability._ ”

“Jack, it’s okay, you don’t have to-” Crutchie began, but Jack got in the woman’s face.

“His _capability_ has nothing to do with the fact that he is the _single greatest employee this coffee shop has ever seen,_ ” Jack spat. “And all the time I’ve been here, I’ve seen him drop a drink exactly once, regardless of his _capability._ To be quite honest, the way you’ve been treating him, I would want to drop a drink on you, too!”

“That’s enough, Jack,” Crutchie said quietly, and Jack stopped talking, not because he was finished, but because Crutchie honestly looked as though he was restraining himself from shouting, too, and if he blew, Jack wanted to hear him give the woman a piece of his mind.

He didn’t blow, though. He simply looked at the woman once more and said, “I really am sorry, ma’am. I’d be happy to get you another coffee, free of charge, once you calm down and decide to be civil.”

The woman nodded, then seemed to understand the last bit, because her eyes widened. “Once _I…_ Once I calm _down? I_ am not the problem here, _boy!_ ”

“He asked you,” said Jack, “to please calm down. He’s offering you free coffee, miss. I wouldn’t turn it down, because my friend here can make some pretty _damn_ good drinks.”

“You flatter me,” said Crutchie, but his eyes were on the customer.

“You know what?” she finally said, looking down at her ruined blouse. “I’ll find my business elsewhere, where I don’t have _children_ bossing me around and _spilling things_ on me!”

And with that, she turned on her very expensive, very uncomfortable-looking heels and stormed out of the shop, leaving Jack and Crutchie alone. The only sounds were the machines behind the counter and the slight _drip-drip_ sound of the spilled coffee, spreading off the table and seat and onto the floor.

Finally, Crutchie said, “Well, that was fun.”

“How do you freaking deal with people like that _all the time?_ ” Jack asked, and Crutchie shrugged.

Then he looked at the ground and said, “Jack, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what? Stand up for you to an asshole?”

“Most people don’t,” Crutchie sighed. “If there are other customers in the shop and someone’s being a jerk, they turn the other way. Even Finch doesn’t step in unless I ask him to.”

“Why not? Why don’t people stand up to asses like her?”

“Jack, people don’t see me as capable,” Crutchie whispered, still looking at the ground. “They see me as handicapped, disabled, which may be true, but no one thinks I’m _worth_ standing up for. I’m an underpaid, crippled barista at a low-quality coffee shop, and no one believes I’ll ever amount to anything.” He laughed, and it was a watery, shaky sound. “Hell, Jack, _I_ don’t believe I’ll ever amount to-”

Jack couldn’t help it; he surged forwards, grabbed Crutchie’s face in his hands, and pressed their lips together.

 _Anything_ to keep him from finishing his sentence because _oh,_ it wasn’t true, _of course it wasn’t true,_ Crutchie was brilliant and funny and sweet and he was most certainly going places in life.

Well, that and the fact that he’d been wondering for a solid month what those perfect, always-smiling lips would feel like against his own.

Crutchie didn’t react for a scarily long time, so Jack pulled away, still holding Crutchie’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t- I mean, I wasn’t about to let you _say_ those things because _dammit_ Crutch, I’m so in love with you, and I have been since I walked into your shop a month ago.”

Crutchie was still staring at him, unresponsive, face dangerously blank.

“And I-” Jack’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “And I just can’t believe that you can’t see all the absolutely _fantastic_ things about you that I notice every day. Like your smile. And your laugh. And your _dimples._ And the way you can calm people down, and the way you put up with _so much shit_ but you never lose your sunny personality, and your freckles, oh God, your freckles are like constellations across your face and I’m so in love with them I’m so in love with _you._ ”

Crutchie finally looked up, and his bright eyes were sparkling with tears.

_Oh, no._

He’d meant to reassure Crutchie of his worth, how great he really was, not bust out the full love confession. Not _kiss_ him.

And now he’d come on too strong and he’d made this adorable little ray of sunshine cry and he was never going to be able to face himself in the mirror again, not to mention he’d never have any more of that amazing, life-changing coffee again. He probably wouldn’t even be invited back into the shop. _Why was he so stupid?_

He turned, maybe so that Crutchie wouldn’t see the expression on his face, maybe to flee the shop, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

Crutchie still had tears in his eyes, but the expression on his face was more shocked than sad.

“You _like_ me?” he whispered, looking like he didn’t believe it was true.

The sound that escaped Jack’s mouth was somewhere between a scoff and a nervous laugh. _If only you knew._

“Crutchie…” he said, unsure of where to even _start._ “I came in here for the first time feeling miserable. It wasn’t my greatest day to start out with… I was exhausted and cold and just wanted to go back to bed. And then you greeted me. You made me the greatest coffee I’ve ever had in my life and _smiled_ at me. And you _kept smiling,_ every day that I came in here.”

Jack laughed. “You wrote the cheesiest pickup lines on my cups-”

“So you _did_ notice!” Crutchie said delightedly. “You never responded, so I didn’t know for sure until that day the drunk man came in and I mentioned something about him stealing my pickup line.”

“I noticed,” Jack agreed. “I just didn’t think you were serious.”

“I was so serious, Jack,” and Crutchie’s voice had dropped once more to a whisper, tears gone from his eyes but the sadness still there. “I didn’t think you cared enough to respond, like maybe you weren’t interested. Or you weren’t gay. I didn’t know. Still don’t know.”

“I do believe that the kiss verified some things?” Jack said, suddenly aware of how, as they had been talking, they had been moving closer and closer together, until he was face-to-face with Crutchie. If he leaned down, he’d be able to kiss Crutchie again. _But what if Crutchie didn’t want to?_

“Mmm, some things,” Crutchie hummed. “I still don’t know if you’re gay. And I have no idea where we stand with this whole thing.”

Jack considered it, then moved forward just a little bit, just enough to brush his lips against Crutchie’s, soft enough to tickle, but firm enough that it was definitely not an accident.

Crutchie shivered and closed his eyes, a smile on his face, and something inside Jack leapt not-at-all unpleasantly.

“Bi,” Jack said against Crutchie’s lips, and the feeling of their lips ghosting together did _wonderful_ things to his stomach. “I’m bisexual, and _this whole thing_ can be whatever the hell you want it to be.”

“Oh, good,” whispered Crutchie, opening his eyes and fixing them on Jack. “I was hoping you might say that.”

And then Crutchie was the one to lean forward, pressing their mouths together as his left hand slid up to snake around Jack’s neck and pull him closer. Jack looped his arms around Crutchie’s hips, mindful of the crutch, and sighed happily into the kiss.

He wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but a little while in, Crutchie did something absolutely _amazing_ with his tongue and Jack _whimpered,_ honest-to-goodness _whimpered,_ which only seemed to encourage Crutchie, who did it again.

Who knew how long it had been- minutes? Hours? when someone cleared their throat behind them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you guys are blocking the counter.”

They both whirled around to find Finch standing there, looking slightly amused, keys in hand.

“Finch!” Crutchie yelped, although Jack noted (with satisfaction) that he made no move to detach himself from Jack. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“You’re fine,” laughed Finch. “I’m early. And I’m happy for you, truly. You’ve been pining for weeks now.”

Crutchie spluttered out something like an excuse, but Finch shot it down.

“Yes you have, don’t even deny it,” he said. “And I really am _ecstatic_ for the both of you, but I have two requests. _One,_ you don’t make out in the middle of the coffee shop. The health inspector will have all our hides. And _two,_ move. If you aren’t going to do your job, at least let me by so I can.”

“Shut up, you,” grumbled Crutchie, but there wasn’t any fire behind his words.

“I do believe…” Finch checked the old wooden clock hanging above the door. “It’s, like, ten minutes till your break, Crutch. So if you wanted to run off with your boyfriend-

Jack nodded. “ _Boyfriend._ I like that.” He turned to Crutchie. “Do you like that?”

Crutchie grinned up at him, kissed-red lips and flushed cheeks hiding his freckles and _oh no._

“I’d love that, _boyfriend,_ ” he said, then frowned, looking to Finch. “Are you alright all alone here?”

Finch gestured to the empty shop. “Isn't exactly the peak of service hour, is it? I’ll be fine. You two go.”

Crutchie only hesitated a second longer before making his way behind the counter, grabbing his coat and hat, and joining hands with Jack.

The cool air hit their faces like knives, and Jack shamelessly moved closer to Crutchie.

To preserve body heat.

Of course.

“So where do you want to go, _boyfriend?_ ” he asked, heart beating erratically at the sound of that word rolling off his tongue, _and Crutchie getting to be the one he said it to._

“There’s an ice cream shop around the corner,” Crutchie offered, and he looked so hopeful, with that adorable blue beanie framing his flushed face _just right,_ that Jack somehow knew, deep down, that he would never be able to refuse this ray of sunshine anything.

Even if the temperature was somewhere below freezing and Crutchie wanted to go to an _ice cream parlor, of all places._

“Of course,” he said, laughing. “Let’s go, _boyfriend_.”

Crutchie hummed happily and stopped walking to lean on his crutch and kiss Jack’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that.”

 _Me either, Crutchie,_ thought Jack. The smile on his face must have blinding as he was pulled after his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!)_ down the sidewalk to the ice cream shop, hardly believing his luck. His amazing, wonderful luck that someone as sweet and kind as Crutchie had fallen for him just as hard as he’d fallen for Crutchie.

_Me either._

The ice cream was delicious, thought Jack later, with a cone of chocolate in his hand (well, he was classic, after all), and a cute boy sitting beside him in the booth, holding his hand under the table and happily devouring a cone of cotton candy flavored ice cream.

Absolutely delicious.

Even if it was below freezing outside.

~

**Author's Note:**

> meow
> 
> i have nothing inspiring to say
> 
> hope you liked
> 
> *waves*
> 
> -byrd


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